


Ode To Sleep

by twinSky



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, M/M, fucked up lmao, manipulation probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-03 23:26:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1759595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twinSky/pseuds/twinSky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even when they are separated Stiles can feel the other, a connection between their shared existences that is not actually there, that does not physically exist, but he can feel like a chain linking their two existences to one another. Like two creatures who cling onto each other for life, because it is like they will die without the other.</p><p>Stiles knows this isn’t true, knows that this existence he has is his own, that it is the Nogitsune who relies on him for life –that needs his shape, his body, to exist on this plane.</p><p>It doesn’t change the fact, that when it is defeated, when it’s (his, their) body shatters and turns to dust and the small firefly that remains is trapped inside the box, he feels like a part of him has gone with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ode To Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, been writing this today instead of working on my english presentation
> 
> was supposed to be inspired by [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JiZO_tGCNPU) song but it didn't really end up happening, the title still comes from this though  
> -  
> (p.s the dubcon warning isnt anything more than kissing, and perhaps a bit mroe but nothing more descript than kising is explicitly mentioned. Consent issues fall under how much say Stiles really ever has/had in what goes/went on )

_Why won't you let me go?_  
_Do I threaten all your plans?_  
_I'm insignificant._  
_Please tell them you have no plans for me._  
_I will set my soul on fire, what have I become?_  
_I'll tell them!_

_-_

It was (is) more than just remembering what the Nogitsune did, he had (could) feel it too, but he didn’t know how to describe that to them. At least, not in a way that wouldn’t make them worry and wary.

He had felt every single thing the Nogitsune did, and it was worse after he fully allowed it in, when the already blurred line between their existences just seemed to disappear completely. He could feel the joy it took when it ran Scott through with the blade (the excitement throughout the day, the meticulous planning of all the details, the pure bliss of watching it all come together), could feel the pain and strife it drew from his best friend, from his practically brother.

(He could feel the rush of power, the ecstasy of taking it. He had screamed in horror when he had _liked it_ , when he had wanted _more_. And it was only so much worse (better) after his stay at Eichen house.)

Even when they are separated Stiles can feel the other, a connection between their shared existences that is not actually there, that does not physically exist, but he can feel like a chain linking their two existences to one another. Like two creatures who cling onto each other for life, because it is like they will die without the other.

Stiles knows this isn’t true, knows that this existence he has is his own, that it is the Nogitsune who relies on him for life –that needs his shape, his body, to exist on this plane.

It doesn’t change the fact, that when it is defeated, when it’s (his, their) body shatters and turns to dust and the small firefly that remains is trapped inside the box, he feels like a part of him has gone with it.

-

There is a cold and empty feeling that snakes around his body and grips him tight –it’s not as bad as he would have thought, he had gotten used to the coldness while the Nogitsune had possessed him, and the emptiness is just there. Sometimes he feels it too much, sometimes he worries (he doesn’t know why) it’s gone.

It persists and persists and only ever seems to lessen when he’s visiting Scott at the pet clinic, he doesn’t notice the feeling of suddenly being full because he barely notices the feeling of being empty anymore. The third time though (once is chance, two times a coincidence, and three times a pattern he dutifully recites, like some sort of comfort) he does feel the subtle warmth that settles into his seemingly permanently chilled body.

He wanders a bit, as much as he can while talking to Scott and not looking suspicious, towards the place he knows the box is kept. He feels the warmth increase a barely noticeable amount and quickly tells Scott that he needs to leave, that he has something to do.

(It’s not a lie, because leaving as quickly as possible to avoid (panicking? He doesn’t think so) doing _something_ in front of Scott.)

He looks confused –head tilted in a way Stiles knows means concern and worry but is choosing not to notice –but wave’s goodbye nonetheless

“I’ll come by later.” Scott says, and it’s more of a –subtle –demand rather than a question or offer. Stiles nods his head and leaves as fast as he can without worrying Scott anymore.

-

A couple of days later Stiles goes back to Deaton’s, on a day where he knows for sure none of the pack will be there.

Deaton is standing there when he walks in, and he’s unsure why –if it’s because he just happened to be there or somehow knew he was coming –and gives Stiles a knowing smile. He wonders if that answers his question, feels like it doesn’t.

His nervousness spikes and he begins to drum his fingers against his leg in agitation. The motion is familiar –now –and nothing like the particular flail of movement he is accustomed too, a steady thrumming beat he knows by memory, a sound he occasionally hears in his dreams (nightmares).

“Can –can I see it?” Deaton gives him a look and his drumming switches to poorly contained flails and jitters until he nods.

“Follow me,” he says, and no more words are spoken.

The room the box is in, from the outside, looks inconspicuous, a normal door in a hallway full of them; behind it is a small room –a large closet –with random supplies inside. However, another door, not hidden yet not seen, lies inside and it is there the Nogitsune lies. The room is larger, but not by much, and is full of things that thrum with energy, objects that seem to –but do not –glow and plants that seem vibrant with life and power. He has not been in here since they first placed the box inside it, but he remembers how peaceful it felt, how even the walls seemed to sing.

His feet move without permission, but with purpose, and before he knows it, he is standing before the box. It looks like just as it did, and in this room full of objects that scream power, that look every bit as magic as they are, this simple box seems out of place. He feels out of place. He blinks, once, twice, thrice, and reaches out to grab it, holds it close and pretends he doesn’t hear a whisper, pretends that he doesn’t feel whole for the first time since this whole ordeal began.

He looks at Deaton, whose expression as always in unreadable, and doesn’t know how to say the words that creep at the edge of his mind, rest on the tip of his tongue. Deaton moves, at least, Stiles thinks he does, and he clutches the box closer to himself –feels the warmth spike for just a second, a cacophony of whispers he can’t understand sound from everywhere.

“I –“ He starts, but doesn’t know how to continue.

“You may guard it, if it gives you piece of mind.” Deaton say, face as neutral as ever, but Stiles can almost feel the thoughts, the movement, in the others head. He nods, calmly, frantically, instead of thinking about it.

“Don’t, uh, you won’t tell Scott or anybody right?” He’d fidget, but it is almost calming to just have it in his arms, a weight of his shoulders he didn’t (but he did, just not this one) even know he had. Instead, he stares with as much intensity as he can manage.

Deaton smiles and Stiles twitches, wishes the man wasn’t so enigmatic, so _annoying_.

“Your secret is safe with me.”

“Right, thanks” he says, and then dashes out of there, because it feels like Deaton is going to threaten him or something next and Stiles just doesn’t want to know.

-

He puts the box in one of his drawers, the one where he keeps some herbs, mountain ash and the like, so when they come to visit they shouldn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. Hopefully, its smell or whatever is drowned out with its surroundings.

He breathes out a sigh of relief the first time Scott comes to visit after he takes it and says nothing, an even bigger one when Derek comes and says nothing as well.

It’s not as if it proves they don’t know, but at least they aren’t going to mention it. He’s grateful, because he has no idea how to explain it, just that it’s a need. Something he has to have close to him because it makes him feel right again.

He doesn’t think about it, not much anyway, can’t bring himself too.

-

He spaces out sometimes, will stare out into nothing until he loses focus and then comes back to moments (seconds, minutes, hours) later. Sometimes, he’ll come to and nothing will be different, he’ll be just where he remembers being, other times he’ll find himself somewhere else either doing nothing as well, or just something he cannot (or tries not) to make sense of.

Once, he blinks his eyes open to his father shaking him by the shoulders, saying his name like a chant, like a plea. He stares at his hands, which are wrapped in bandages, which he is currently still wrapping, moving up along his arm.

He looks up at his dad, blinks, looks back down at his hands, and frowns.

His father had sighed in relief, asked him if everything was alright –had taken the nod he had given with a wary smile –and then had given him a soft reassuring squeeze of the shoulder before leaving.

He had continued to stare the bandages with a frown, they were so clean, so white, so untarnished by age and work and life. He unwrapped them slowly (so slowly) and wondered what had happened to the ones from when he first was freed from the Nogitsune.

(He wonders if he can find them, but they are probably long gone by now.)

-

The longer he has it, the louder the whispers get the more clear they become. What originally was like static, a hum he could hear but not understand, steadily rights itself, like tuning into the right station. One day, it’s just as clear as the sky on a sunny day.

_We’ve missed you, Stiles._

He doesn’t say anything, for a second he doesn’t _do_ anything, doesn’t breathe, doesn’t move, just doesn’t. Eventually he does move, takes the box outside its drawer and curls up around it.

He falls asleep holding it tight, he never gives it an answer, but he knows he doesn’t have too.

-

 Things get… easier, after that.

He can breathe easy again, doesn’t have the crushing weight of everything being wrong constantly weighing down on his shoulders. Doesn’t feel like he’s falling apart, doesn’t feel like he’s about to shatter at a moment’s notice.

And it’s so ( _fuckedupbadhorribledisgusting)_ wrong but he just, just doesn’t care.

Doesn’t care that he finds comfort (an anchor, if he –doesn’t really, not ever –think about it) in the trickster spirit that possessed him –took away his free will, his sanity –and killed people he knew and loved. Doesn’t care that the thing that is keeping him sane, is the thing that took away in the first place.

_Did we really, Stiles?_

He doesn’t answer, he rarely does.

_You weren’t sane before, you aren’t now._

He starts to write in his notebook instead of answering, remembers he’s at school and is supposed to be paying attention. He feels better, almost feels complete, but he doesn’t feel like himself. He’s not even sure of who that’s supposed to be anymore.

_You have us._

“I do.” He mumbles underneath his breath, doesn’t miss the look Lydia shoots him from her seat beside him.

“You okay Stiles?” She asks, voice painted with concern, and he still finds himself wondering how she even manages to be this close to him. How she even manages to look him in the eye after what it (they) did.

He’s considered asking her, but he’s scared to know the answer.

“Yes.” No.

Her gaze tells him she doesn’t believe him for a second, but she lets it drop. Turns back to her own notes after giving him a stern look.

He sighs, and pretends he didn’t just feel the rasp of breath against his ear.

-

He dreams.

They used to be nightmares, then they became blurred images, now he dreams.

He dreams of that bright, white, room. He dreams of the nemeton. He dreams of himself atop it and can feel its thrum coursing through him.

In his dream it is there, and it continues to wear his face –continues to be him even when it is not, when it does not need to.

It smiles –the smile of a predator, the smile of one who knows it holds all the power –at him, whispers sweet nothings and he wonders why.

Why it speaks to him with a face, that is his own but not, a voice that is his own but not. Why it even does all this, if there is something it gains from all this.

_I gain you, Stiles._

He blinks, stiffens, forgets that it can hear him, never even questioned it.

Its smile widens, which shouldn’t even be possible Stiles thinks, but it does. It grabs the sides of his face and pulls him in close, so close he can feel the coldness that surrounds it, the pseudo-warmth he always feels overpowering that cold.

Then its lips are on his and it’s not sweet at all, it’s rough and bruising and his mind just stops.

Everything else though, it keeps moving.

-

He was stupid to think that this was actually better, that this was what would keep him sane.

-

The dreams are constant after that, always the same, always touching, always whispers always too wide smiles with too much teeth.

It’s as if it’s possessing him all over again because he can’t tell when he’s sleeping and when he’s dreaming. Even when he’s awake he can still hear it, can feel the ghosts of its touches against his skin and he feels just as lost as when it all started.

When it gets too much he can feel it’s arms around him, when there is panic rising in his chest and he doesn’t know what he’s doing he can feel its breath against his ear, whispering things he doesn’t hear but are calming him nonetheless.

He is losing himself all over again and this time it’s his fault, he chose this.

He isn’t sure he would’ve made a different decision even if he had known it would end up like this.

-

It comes to the point where he’d rather be asleep then awake, because those are the moments where he feels right, that he feels complete, that he doesn’t feel broken and wrong even though he knows he is.

He feels anxious and on edge, starts counting his fingers again (as if he ever stopped), and doesn’t know if he feels relieved or disappointed when it adds up to ten.

They start worrying about him all over again and he doesn’t know what to say when his dad squeezes his shoulder so tight it hurts. When Scott puts his hand over his and tells him, everything will be okay and Lydia gives him a soft kiss to the forehead. When Derek drops by looking uncomfortable and out of place, but tells him with certainty that he can get through this. That things will be alright.

He doesn’t know how to tell anyone what’s been happening, what he let happen.

He just keeps moving.

-

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore”

_We can help_

“You can’t! You started this all in the first place.”

_It was you, you let us in, then you took us back_

“I, I just, it made everything hurt less.”

_We understand, we always will_

He’s crying, he thinks, but he’s not exactly sure.

_Open the box Stiles._

“I can’t do that, you’ll (we’ll) hurt people, we did. I can’t do that again, not to them, not to anyone.”

_Only you_

He laughs, not even sure what that means, “Never trust a fox.”

It’s silent after that, and Stiles wonders if it’s because he’s right, or because it knows nothing it says can be believed.

_How much longer can you last Stiles, how long can you last in the waking world without us?_

Not much at all, but he can’t say it aloud.

_Open the box, Stiles. Let us in._

He looks up at the Nogitsune, away from the nemeton where he had focused his gaze instead. There is no malice in his eyes –but it is a trickster, it lies, it deceives, it causes chaos to have fun –but the grin, that not right at all grin, remains on his face and Stiles thinks it could do better. That if it really wanted to trick it wouldn’t show him that terrifying smile, would persuade a lot better than it currently is. There is no malice in its eyes but there is amusement, maybe even joy.

_What will it be?_

He closes his eyes, and when they open, he’s on his bed, upright with his hands curled up around the box even though he knows that is not the way he went to sleep.

_What will it be, Stiles?_

-

He opens the box and can’t even regret his choice because if he thought he felt right before it’s even better now. Like he’s been filled to the brim with energy and his body can’t contain it.

-

The Nogitsune kisses him hard, holds his arms so tight he knows they will leave bruises, and the thought is as worrying as it is thrilling. He can’t think of much though, because he just wants to focus on this, on how ( _wrong, bad, stop, don’t do this, this is disgusting)_ right this is, because it’s almost as if the Nogitsune is fixing his disgusting broken bits and something about that is wrong so wrong but it all feels so right.

And how bad can something be when it feels like nothing else, so amazing he can’t describe it. The way it manages to shut off his brain when it was too much, too active, never settling, always worrying.

_We will never be alone_

They won’t, and it sounds so wonderful.

The Nogitsune disappears, but it doesn’t, it fades back into him and he wonders how he thought he wanted it gone when he can’t believe he was even living before now.

_We will keep you safe_

It will.

_You are ours._

He is, and he can’t imagine it any other way.

-

He tells no one what he did (they wouldn’t understand), wonders if Deaton knows and decides it doesn’t matter.

He starts to talk less and less, because he’s always lost in the voice inside his head. His friends worry but he does not because he hasn’t felt this good in ever, and doubts he ever will feel better than this.

-

The Nogitsune is always there, whether he dreams or not, whether he wants it there or not. It sits next to him and talks when he is with his friends, distracts him on purpose and laughs when he starts to lose focus. Listen to it instead of his friends.

They keep sending him worried glances and he doesn’t know how much more he can take.

-

 _We could leave_ It says one day, when he is fretting because they are starting to worry too much and he thinks they’ll find out and they just _can’t_.

“They’ll find me”

_Do you forget who we are; they will do nothing we do not wish them to._

“I can’t just, leave, this is my life”

_We’ll protect you_

He wonders if that means more than he thinks it does.

-

They do leave one day, they are all talking too much, about things he doesn’t want to answer and the Nogitsune just, takes control.

He finishes the conversation and leaves and his friends don’t even realize it’s not him. They drop by his house, pick things up and it leaves a note for his father.

He screams because he doesn’t want this, but it doesn’t listen.

_It’s for the best, Stiles, you’ll understand._

-

Eventually he does, but he’s not sure he made that decision. The one to understand, things are blurry most days, and he lives in flashes of one place and another.

They move a lot, never one place for long, and he knows they leave chaos where they go and can’t bring himself to care.

He cares for so little nowadays.

_We will always have you Stiles._

It does.

_You will always have us._

He does.

And somehow, though nothing is okay, that makes everything okay.

-

_I'll stay awake, 'cause the dark's not taking prisoners tonight._  
_Why am I not scared in the morning,_  
_I don't hear those voices calling,_  
_I must have kicked them out,_  
_I must have kicked them out,_  
_I swear I heard demons yelling,_  
_Those crazy words they were spelling,_  
_They told me I was gone,_  
_They told me I was gone._

 

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to say that i don't like using the word 'complete' in terms of relationships, it makes me feel like a person is missing something, that they aren't whole with just themselves.  
> And while that may not be people's intentions it's how I feel about that, you'll notice I used it a lot here, and that's specifically because I find this relationship fucked up and wrong, with a dependency that isn't right and lol goodbye could rant about this ship forever
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
> -  
> [tumblr](http://www.tvvinsky.tumblr.com)


End file.
